


Special Victims

by Out-of-Character217 (Out_of_Character217)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU Modern World, Implied Sex Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith!whump, Lots of mentions of abuse, M/M, Original Character - Freeform, Recovery, Whump Fic, all Galra are human, cop!shiro, hurt keith, i will add tags as i add chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_of_Character217/pseuds/Out-of-Character217
Summary: Shiro is a cop assigned to Special Victims. Eager to climb the ranks and rebuild his life and career, he doesn’t anticipate rescuing Keith. A boy lost in the system and left vulnerable to horrific abuse. But the rescue is only a small fraction of the story, and Keith needs to rebuild his life. Struggling to find purpose, he learns the value of a found family. **AU modern world**
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), sheith
Comments: 33
Kudos: 233





	Special Victims

**Author's Note:**

> This will be split into three parts. Updates may be slow and sporadic. Be gentle with me I’m just getting back into the swing of this.

Keith looks out at the passing city through the raindrops sliding down his window. Everything is distorted and concave, shot through with spears of red and yellow light everytime a car on the other side of the road passes. The window is cold against Keith’s forehead, and the engine vibrates it until he has a subtle headache. He closes his eyes and feels the grit and salt and he recalls the cold of only moments before; how it stung his face. Everything hit him all at once. Only five hours ago Keith had stepped outside for the first time in ten years and had drawn a breath so cold he’d almost choked. Now the dizzy world races past him and he can’t think. Can’t piece it all together quick enough. He’s outside. 

Dread starts to build. Filling him up drip by drip until it’s a torrent and he can’t hold it back. It crashes over him in a clammy wave and he gasps, mouth open like a landed fish but he’s not sucking anything in and he just flinches in his seat. A low, gentle voice breaks through and catches his attention. Keith tears his eyes away from the window and the passing cars that make him feel sick and he looks at the driver who’s looking back over his shoulder at him, a small, soft smile on his lips as he says it’s gonna be alright. They’ll be there soon. 

Its enough of a distraction that Keith realises he’s breathing again. Ragged and laboured but he’s breathing. It’s all he can do to keep it up; he has nothing left for a smile and a nod of thanks. But he remembers the cop’s name. Recalls it like a bell ringing clearly through the chaos. Shiro. 

Keith closes his eyes and focuses on the rhythmic rocking of the car and the pain in his jaw before he realises he’s trying to hold himself back from shivering. Noticing it is like breaking a dam and he explodes into a shower of trembles. It is cold but mostly he’s scared. Mostly he just wants the world to stop moving and strangely, horrifyingly, he just wants that small, cramped room and his worn out futon. He wants what he’s known for the past ten years. He wants to go home. As warped as that concept is to him. 

The dread stays with him, solidified deep in his gut and sitting heavy across his chest. Keith feels like he’s barely clinging to the fractured edges of himself. Like little drops of himself are sloshing out and he can’t plug the holes fast enough. 

The car door opens and Keith realises they’ve stopped and Shiro has gotten out. He’s standing beside him holding out his hand and Keith just stares at it. It a prosthetic, there’s no mistaking it. The cop’s fingers gleam quicksilver under the fluorescent lights, but that’s not why Keith stares. He’s waiting for it to move. For Shiro to reach in and grab him or haul him up. But he just waits and waits. 

Keith swallows and it feels like sandpaper and grit on his tongue. He reaches out slowly and gradually slips his hand into Shiro’s. For a moment, Keith forgets about the terror of his life and simply marvels at the fact that they are warm. Those metal fingers are warm and lifelike and they swamp Keith’s freezing hand. He has no idea how he does it, but he gets to his feet and then Shiro is guiding him through large sliding glass doors and there’s bright florescent lights that hurt Keith’s eyes. He squints and shields them, ducking his head down low and Shiro’s hand is on his shoulder pulling him in closer to his side. The noise of the ER almost overwhelms him. He cringes, muscles locking up tight and Shiro is saying something beside him but it’s just a dull tone amongst the roar in his head. 

He blacks out. He knows he does because he remembers falling into the darkness. When he wakes up its quiet and dark and he’s lying down. He’s alone and his clothes are gone. Replaced with hospital scrubs. He sits up at the sound of the door and he recognises Shiro instantly. Black hair with that strange white forelock. Large, grey eyes and distinctive scar. 

“What happened?” Keith asks, voice tight and aching. 

“You passed out,” Shiro says as he sits and passes Keith a can of soda. Keith hesitates a moment before taking it. “But you’re gonna be fine. The doctors ran some tests while you were out and they think you’re just exhausted.” Shiro offers him a wan smile. “It’s no surprise really. You’ve had one hell of a day.” 

“Tests?” Keith asks, staring at the soda can in his hands, tracing the tab with his finger and he makes no move to open it and drink. 

“Just some blood tests.” Shiro’s nonchalance is reassuring and his smile is small but warm. “Listen I know you’ve been answering questions all day and you’re tired and scared, but we have one more thing we need to do.”

Keith is beyond tired yet he’s never been so far from sleep in all his life. He nods obediently. “What is it?”

“The doctors here need to examine you. They need to take crucial DNA evidence from you and record all of your injuries. It’s a pretty long and invasive process, but it’s the last step before we can move on with our investigation. It’s also going to help strengthen the case against the people who did this to you.”

The people who’d done this to him? Keith thinks absently. It strikes him for a moment what an odd choice of words that is. Who has done what to him? But he doesn’t question and he has no intention of refusing. That’s not how he’s been trained.

“Okay.” He says simply. 

The look on Shiro’s face is odd. It’s not quite pleased and not quite relieved. But he’s clearly pained. 

“What happens after that?” Keith asks, feeling brave. 

“We finish processing the evidence. We have a lot to work through so it could take some time. But once we have everything in order we’ll present our case to the DA. Oh, I forgot to mention, we confirmed your ID while you were out. Got a hit on your birth certificate.”

Keith picks his chin up a little and watches Shiro scroll through his phone until he finds the right picture and holds it out for Keith to see. 23rd October.... He’s… this means he’s… 

“You’re nineteen.” Shiro says out loud for him. 

Keith briefly recalls the conversation a few hours ago - hours that feel like days. The cops were asking him questions. The woman -- her name is Allura and she’s tall and stark and gentle -- and Shiro. They ask him how old he is and Keith feels the shame of not knowing. Knows deep down in his soul it’s wrong. Doesn’t everyone know how old they are? How many birthdays they’ve celebrated? Except Keith can’t remember ever celebrating anything in his life. The only way he’d been able to count the passing of time was how many times it got cold enough to breath ice in his room. He used to be able to remember his father. But that had been a very long time ago and Keith hasn’t tried to recall him in years.

He is older than he suspected and that thought makes him sad. 

“I meant what happens to me?”

Shiro puts his phone away and his face becomes solemn. 

“We’ll want to keep you in for a few days. Keep an eye on you and make sure you’re okay. After that…” Shiro becomes less sure of himself. “Things could get a bit complicated. But you don’t need to worry. We’re taking care of everything. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

Safe is an abstract concept. Its a word without any tangible definition that Keith can relate to so he just shrugs. “Okay.” 

There’s the lag of a few dead seconds of air between them before Shiro nods and gestures towards the soda still in Keith’s hands.

“Aren’t you going to drink that?”

Keith looks down as if noticing it for the first time and holds it up. “Can I?” he doesn’t recognise the look on Shiro’s face but his grey eyes shimmer for a moment. 

“Sure,” Shiro replies, voice barely more than a whisper to stop it from cracking. 

***

They keep him in the hospital for three more days while they arrange charitable and departmental funds for a bed in a treatment centre up north. Allura comes to see him not long after Shiro leaves and she talks for a long time until Keith’s eyes feel like lead weights. Finally he agrees to a short period of assessment. She promises him it will help him reintegrate with society. Keith only cares about sleep in that moment and agrees with a small shrug and a whispered “Fine.” Today they’re meeting with the doctor to discuss his transfer.

“I think you’re making the right decision.” Shiro is trying to reassure him despite the fact Keith hasn’t actually said anything all morning. Perhaps that’s also why, a small voice in the back of Keith’s head supplies. He stares out of the window and squints against the bright light. It hurts but he can’t stop staring. The city below is huge and sprawling and so full. There are so many people. He shifts the blinds to shield the worst of the winter sun and he just nods. 

“This place is going to help you understand what’s happened to you. I know you have to have questions?”

He had. Once. He was sure of it. He vaguely recalled the pleasant burn of curiosity and the sting of being denied. A flash of something dark and hot shot up his spine and in his mind’s eye he saw red— hot and searing. Flinching he pulled away from the memory and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to expunge the images imprinted there.

“Here, I got you these.” Shiro says, stepping forward, closer to where Keith is sat on the windowsill. He holds out a sleek black case that fits in the palm of his hand. “They’re to protect your eyes from the sun. I noticed the lights were giving you some trouble.” He smiles kindly, and waits patiently while Keith works up the courage to reach out and take it. His arms are thin and bird-like, and he’s pale in those dark blue scrubs. The white bandages around his wrists are almost the same colour as his skin. The parts that aren’t bruised or abraded. Keith’s hair is charcoal black and cut badly into rough strands around his face. The staff here had succeeded in convincing him to wash his hair. To dunk his head under the spray of the shower long enough to get it clean. But allowing anyone with scissors near him had been beyond the nurses abilities. 

Keith takes the case, curling his long fingers around the sleek leather and he looks inside, pulling out the wire framed sunglasses. He puts them on and looks out the window and his eyes don’t hurt. For the first time in days the tension across Keith’s forehead lessens and he smiles. It’s only a small up turn of his lips. A measly crumb. But it’s there and Shiro sees it. 

“Thanks.” Keith says, and finds he’s able to look at Shiro a bit easier now that he can’t see when Keith’s looking. 

“No problem,” Shiro can’t help his own soft smile of victory. “You need anything else?” He doesn’t expect Keith to ask anything of him. He never does, but he makes a point of asking every time he leaves. This time is different.

“When the doctor comes,” Keith says, voice still scratchy and sore. “Can you be here?”

Shiro is more than taken aback. He struggles to reply and for a few moments there’s silence between them. 

“Don’t you want Allura there?”

Keith shrugs and nods. “Okay.” 

“No, I mean, I can be there, if you want,” Shiro isn’t actually one hundred percent sure on that but his afternoon is suddenly about to open way up. “I just thought you’d prefer Allura.”

Keith nods, distracts himself with a piece of thread hanging from the blinds and begins to pick at it. “I want you there.” He says after a little while and some difficulty. He doesn’t know why but he feels mortified. 

“Okay,” Shiro seems to breathe a sigh of relief. “I can do that. Just let me move some things around okay? I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Shiro leaves just as they’re serving dinner. The nurse puts it on the table across Keith’s bed. It will be a lottery today if Keith will eat anything. He doesn’t move from his spot on the windowsill and he doesn’t acknowledge the food. Shiro sighs and leaves. 

***

Doctor Coran is tall and lanky and sunny from the inside out. He has an easy, gentle smile that radiates under a shock of flame red hair and his mustache twitches with each minute expression; it's a massive facial tell. Keith wonders if he knows that or not. If he keeps it on purpose or he’s completely oblivious. Either way, Keith likes him instantly. It’s hard not to. He imagines he could be someone’s father. 

“Now then my boy, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How are you, are they keeping you well?” Doctor Coran smiles with a knowing glint and Keith just nods his head and half commits to a shrug. “I’m fine.”

They all sit, Keith and Shiro and Allura on the two seater and armchair respectively, Doctor Coran on the single swivel seat across the coffee table. They’ve secured a nice office for this. Its large and airy but the blinds are drawn across the large window and Keith removes his sunglasses. 

“You know who I am, Keith?” Doctor Coran asked as soon as they are all settled. Keith nods but the Doctor waits for more. 

“You’re from up north. You’ve come to assess me for a bed.”

Coran nods and smiles kindly. “Yes. That’s part of it. I was wondering if, perhaps, before we talk about assessments and transfers, we could maybe get to know each other a little bit? I’d like to know about what you can remember of your parents.”

Keith swallows visibly and his eyes track all over the room. His mind is working, but if he’s in panic mode or if he’s earnestly trying to remember, Shiro can’t tell. 

“I don’t… I don’t really remember…” Keith supplies tentatively. 

“That’s alright. What do you remember?” Coran asks, settling into his chair, crossing his legs and reclining back with his chin resting in his fingers. 

“I remember… my dad.”

“How old were you?”

Keith hesitates for longer this time and his fingers curl into a loose fist. “I don’t know… maybe… four or five?”

“What happened to your father?”

Keith’s breath hitches just slightly, but he catches it and evens it out, controlling it in through his nose and out through his mouth. “I can’t remember. He just… he was there and then he was… he was gone. And then I just…”

“Yes? Where did you go after your father died?”

Keith looks up then, straight at the doctor and seems to choke on something. In his head, a memory so sharp and clear it cuts every part of him on the way up. An image of a man in a blue uniform, his long shadow is blocking out the light in the hallway. Blue and red lights flash behind him through the open door and he kneels down so that he is eye level with the small child. 

“I’m sorry, kid…” the words echo through Keith’s head. “Your father’s gone… there’s nothing we could do.” The words that started everything.

“I don’t know. I was… I moved around a lot. Lived with lots of different people.” Keith recalls the endless carousel of faces. Different houses. Another town, another family. Until he ends up with Mr Cassant. There are other boys like him there too. He sees them on his way in and when he is escorted out of his room. Those brief glimpses are his only indication he isn’t alone in that house. “I just… ended up there.”

“How old were you?” 

Keith wipes at his face. Something irritates his skin and it itches. When he brings his hand away his fingers are wet. 

“I don’t know.” Keith replies miserably. There is so much he just doesn’t know. 

“It’s alright, Keith. It’s alright not to know. Let’s talk about the here and now, shall we? Let’s talk about something a bit more positive.” Coran suggests, sitting up a little straighter. 

Shiro doesn’t realise the tension the room has been holding until it collectively lets it go. 

“My facility is a small hospital in some very beautiful countryside.” Coran beams, clearly proud. “We help people like yourself who are survivors of some extreme mental and emotional trauma. We can help you to deal with that trauma and build a successful life.”

Keith stares at the Doctor, eyes glassy and red, face still wet with quiet tears and he shrugs. “Okay.”

But Keith is far from okay and Shiro can sense it. Keith feels the ground beneath his feet prepare to shift and he recognises that telltale sensation of impending inertia. He’s being spun around again and only God knows where he’ll land this time.

Doctor Coran narrows his eyes at Keith and considers him for a long time. Finally, he draws a long slow breath and holds it briefly before speaking. “You know, it’s not uncommon for survivors such as yourself to under appreciate the magnitude of what’s happened to them until they are removed from the situation. That is to say, I understand the enormity of what you are facing, but I promise you we can help you through it.” Coran smiles encouragingly despite Keith’s meager head nod. “But this is only one aspect of your recovery. There are other things to consider.” Here Coran becomes sombre, his encouraging little smile disappears and his gaze become grave. “You have been in social isolation since you were nine years old. You have no formal education and you cannot read or write satisfactorily. If you were to be discharged tomorrow you wouldn’t even know how to catch a bus. You are completely unequipped for the world outside. At the Kaltenecker Institute, we would help you learn these skills so that you can live independently.”

Shiro feels a small ray of hope in his heart. The first since discovering this kid almost a week ago. Perhaps Keith’s life hasn’t been utterly destroyed beyond repair. 

Keith turns the Doctor’s words over in his mind and glances at Shiro from the corner of his eye. 

“How far away is it?” 

“About an hour.” Doctor Coran supplies. 

“Can you come with me?” He asks Shiro, who turns and looks at him with that strange look he had a few days ago over the can of soda. Keith still doesn’t know what it means. 

“I… I can come visit, but I can’t stay with you. I have to be here to do my job.” 

Keith knows it was a long shot, he was confident it would be a no but it still stings. He nods. “Okay.”

“Is that a yes? Will you agree to come?” Doctor Coran asks, whiskers prickled in anticipation. 

Keith just nods again. “Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t really see what other option he has. 

***

Shiro massages his temples and closes his eyes against the nightmare in front of him. Page after page of evidence and statements. Photos and medical reports. The magnitude of its horror laid out across Shiro’s desk. When he’d agreed to this secondment he’d had no real notion of what he would be dealing with. Special Victims was a department he hadn’t been aiming for. Just another necessary step on his way back up to the top. He’d climbed the ranks before. In another career and another life. Before he’d crashed and burned and the world had spat him out. A glorious military career gone in the blink of an eye and those two fatal words: pilot error. He’d lost more than his arm in that moment. Being a distinguished vet meant he’d gone into the police force with rank and made detective overnight. He was aiming for chief but things like that took time. He had to establish himself inside a team first and he’d grabbed the first opportunity to come his way. 

Allura has been suspicious of his motivations from the start, but she sees he’s starting to get it now. Some actual field experience is providing useful and it’s starting to hit home. Shiro can’t remember losing sleep this badly since he was a cadet coming up on his simulator exams. He wants the simple burden of standardised testing over the knowledge he has instead. Those things that keep him awake at night. Shiro shuffles the photos from the medical exam and compares them to the documentation from the rape kit. 

It’s his job to make sure every reference and piece of evidence is labelled correctly. He doesn’t want there to be any mistakes. This can’t come back on him or his team and he can’t fail Keith like that. 

Twenty five separate bruises and contusions are listed amongst the injuries on this picture. Further on in the report, there is evidence of historical trauma. Fractured ribs and old breaks healed wrong. Signs other injuries were never treated properly. Or at all. 

Shiro wonders where Keith’s mind goes, when all of this sits on top of him and he can’t even bring himself to remember for the consequences would be so terrible. He wonders how he faces it all every day. 

He doesn’t, his mind supplies and his heart aches just a little bit more. 

“Shiro, if you obsess over these files much more you’re going to go insane. The case is strong. We’re gathering more evidence by the day.” Allura’s voice snaps Shiro to attention and he sits up at his desk, slouched shoulders disappear and he’s piercing Allura with an exhausted stare. “I’m just double checking.”

“Triple checking more like.” Allura crosses her arms over her chest.

“That’s my job.” Shiro replies tartly. He doesn’t know why he’s being such an ass. Allura is a great cop. Methodical, intelligent, patient and driven. She’s the perfect choice to lead the task force. Operation Voltron would be nothing without her and everyone knows that. He’s worked with her long enough now to know she’s respected. 

“We have a good team, Shiro. Pidge has done her job well and those files are all in order. You know they are.” She turns to leave, knows she doesn’t have to press the issue because they all get the point. 

“What does a guy have to do?” Shiro asks suddenly, clearly agitated. He runs a hand through his hair, displacing the bangs over his tired eyes. “You know? To think that it’s okay to do that to a kid? Where does he have to go in his head to think that this is okay?” 

Allura stops and turns, watching Shiro with large, sad eyes that are tinged hard with years of experience. “We deal with some sick and evil people in this job.” She agrees, the weight of her words nowhere near the measure of the situation. “But we do it for the victims. Because they need us. They need us to do our jobs so that they’re protected. Understand?” 

Shiro gets a hold of himself, bites his lip and nods slowly at first, then more enthusiastically. “I know. I get it.” 

“Good. So stay focused.” Allura nods, unfolds her arms and walks away. 

***

It’s down to Hunk as the Family Liaison Officer to drive Keith up north to Altea. His job usually entails more of a supportive role acting as a touchstone for families torn apart by these kinds of violent acts. Except Keith has no family. He doesn’t even have clothes to stand up in. Shiro asks Hunk to go shopping. Keep things simple. Just a few shirts and jeans. Underwear. Some toiletries. He packs them all in a bag and hands them over to Keith who just looks at it like it’s alive. 

“They’re for you. You need to get changed before we leave.” 

Keith looks between the bag of clothes and Hunk a few more times before he puts it on the bed and begins to strip. No hesitation or resistance as he peels off the scrubs and Hunk lets out a startled little “whoa!” and turns around. He sees the scars and the fresher bruises. Now over a week old and healing. Keith is still too skinny and Hunk thinks of the home made cookies he has in the glove compartment of his car. Treats no one has been able to resist since Hunk started baking at the tender age of seven. 

“Is Shiro coming?” Keith asks once he’s dressed. He looks strange in his black jeans and t-shirt. A grey hoodie swamping his narrow shoulders. He looks almost… normal. The scar on his cheek is only one of the signs that he’s anything but. 

“He’ll be here in a minute.” Hunk nods. The man had practically insisted.

Keith bites the inside of his cheek and shuffles awkwardly in his new trainers. He notices Hunk staring. “Feels weird,” he sort of half laughs, though there is no genuine humour in it. “Wearing shoes.” He clarifies when Hunk looks puzzled.

The comment blindsides Hunk so completely that for a moment he is speechless, and in the next Shiro has arrived. His presence fills the room and Keith looks up at him through those badly cut bangs, his eyes large and scared and glassy. 

“Ready to go?” Shiro asks, assessing Keith up and down. He’s also struck by how normal Keith looks. Just like any other teenager. Except he’s not. Not even close. 

Keith nods and his mouth sets into a straight line across his ashen face. 

“You’re doing the right thing, you know?” Shiro says softly, unexpectedly. He’s trying so hard to reassure Keith. He sees the fear and the trauma. But he also sees the blank look in Keith’s eyes. And sometimes, when they are alone in the evenings after Shiro has finished his shift and he comes to visit during quiet hours, he notices the way Keith maintains his wall — the way he sits and stares into nothing, lost in his own head and oblivious to everything around him. It’s his escape. The way he’s been dealing with everything for so long and Shiro knows why but he can’t even begin to work out how to fix it. No one here can. Not the nurses or the doctors. This place — this institute — is the only chance Keith has of ever waking up. Shiro knows it’s the right thing for him. 

Keith just shrugs and offers an uneasy smile. “I don’t really know what else I’m supposed to do.”

Shiro let’s out a soft sigh and his shoulders slump. He steps forward and places his hand on Keith’s shoulder squeezing slightly. “It’s going to be alright. You just need to have patience. Things won’t always be this way.” He doesn’t know if his words are helping, and Keith’s face is unreadable. “If you ever feel like things are spinning out of control, just remember: patience yields focus.” Keith’s brows furrow and he looks up at Shiro. “It’s something my dad used to say to me,” Shiro smiles and the crease on Keith’s brow smoothes out. “It helps me when I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

The corner of Keith’s mouth turns up into a hint of a smile and Shiro feels his chest fill with pride and affection. 

“Can I hug you?” He asks, watching Keith’s face as the question registers. He processes it slowly, his expression almost confused for a moment before he looks up at Shiro again and peeks at him from under black lashes and a dark black brow that is raised in expectation. Keith nods. It’s small. Almost a non action. But he strengthens it and signals his consent. He stands there, arms locked at his sides and fingers balled into fists as Shiro slips his arms around him and closes him in a warm hug. He’s stiff and awkward for a few moments, the smell of Shiro overwhelming him. The nearness of him intimidating. But gradually he relaxes and rests his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder. He doesn’t lift his arms and can’t bring himself to return the gesture, but he leans into it and Shiro considers that a victory. 

***

The institute is an old, repurposed Manor house tucked away in the Altean countryside. Nothing but trees and fields of late blooming juniberry flowers for miles and the scent in the air is clean and light. 

Keith enjoys being outside. When he’s not in therapy or completing chores he’s out walking by the boundary wall, deep in the trees under the shade of the enclosing fall. Shiro can see the flash of his red jacket about five hundred yards ahead flickering in and out of the autumn foliage. He picks up his pace. Shiro bought him the jacket a few weeks ago, along with a pair of gloves. The weather is turning and Keith had nothing but his hoodie. 

He draws closer and he calls out. Keith stops and turns, waits for Shiro to catch up and his face is like thunder. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Shiro.” He warns, folding his arms across his chest. Shiro holds his hands up in supplication and slows to a stop an arm's length away. 

“I’m not here to make you.” He protests. “I just wanna know what happened.” 

Keith pouts and his eyes blaze like death. “Nothing happened.” 

Shiro switches from supportive and concerned to bullshit detective in a heartbeat. 

“You punched another patient.” 

“He should have kept his mouth shut.” Keith growls, kanines flashing a little. 

“Why, what did he say?” 

Keith goes quiet, brooding and smouldering silently as he closes up. Shiro sighs and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do here. He doesn’t have any answers. 

“You can’t go around hurting people, no matter how angry you are about what’s happened.” Shiro begins but doesn’t get far.

“This isn’t about what happened.” Keith cuts in unexpectedly. “I know you all think I should be having some kind of meltdown but I don’t remember a lot of it. I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be upset about okay?”

“Then what is this about?” Shiro asks, filing that particular issue away for later. It seems that despite a bumpy first four weeks no progress has been made on unlocking Keith’s memory. Shiro fears that the longer it takes the harder it will be for Keith to process. He’s regaining so much of his personality. More comes through every time Shiro visits. Not all of it is easy to take. 

Keith goes quiet again and Shiro is nearing the end of his patience. 

“Dr Coran says it was a fight over time spent in the gym?”

“That wasn’t the reason.” Keith pouts again.

“Then what was? Come on Keith, help me out here, I’m trying to understand.” 

“Because I’m stupid okay!” Keith bleats, hands balled into fists at his sides as he stands trembling with rage. “I’m a dumb fucking train wreck, remember? Oh wait, that’s right, I can’t!” 

Shiro feels momentarily overwhelmed by Keith’s anger. He lets it hit and then slide away, and he watches the struggle on Keith’s face as he tries to control himself.

“You’re not stupid, Keith.” Shiro says softly. He goes to place his hand on Keith’s shoulder and offer him some physical support but the moment his hand touches him Keith pulls away. He runs a hand under his nose and sniffs discreetly. 

“I need to get back. I have a group session in ten minutes.” He mutters, blinking rapidly. A complete one eighty from a few moments ago. 

“Alright,” Shiro concedes, watching him go. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished. We can go get pizza.” 

Keith doesn’t wave goodbye like he normally does. Just nods his head and hunches his shoulders and walks back across the grounds to the house. Group sessions take place in the summer house, and Shiro loses sight of him in the rose garden. 

He takes a slow walk back and heads towards the visitors lounge. He’s early on account of Doctor Coran’s phone call, but his weekly Friday evening visits have become routine. He brings Keith news of the investigation and updates on their progress, and week by week he can see how hard it is for Keith to make friends. How he treats everyone with a cool detachment that comes across as arrogant. How he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. 

Shiro has just made himself comfortable when there is a crash and a series of shouts of confusion and anger. Shiro jumps to his feet and rushes out into the rose garden. See’s the shards of glass on the ground and the chair lying haphazardly on its side in the gravel. There’s more movement in the summer house and Shiro opens the door, glass crunching underfoot as he lets himself in and sees the group session has been disrupted. Patients line the outside of the conservatory in a loose ring. Backs to the wall as they watch the struggle in the middle with horror. They’re all clearly startled by the exchange. Even the nurses stand well back as the security guards pile in on the person on the ground who thrashes like a caged animal. He screams desperately as he’s pinned, arms wrenched behind his back as he throws his head in pain and wails. 

It’s only then Shiro notices its Keith. 

“Stop! Get off him.” he hears himself demand. He races forwards and shoulders the first guard aside. He shoves the other two away long enough to throw himself down across the ground and he puts himself between Keith and the guards. “Back off, you’re hurting him.” he warns when everything settles slightly. He can still hear Keith gasping for breath.

He sits up and grasps Keith’s shoulders, turning him over so he can sit him up. It takes him several tries. Keith is incoherent and trembling all over. Shiro doesn’t know what else to do and pulls him into a hug, resting Keith’s head against his shoulder and wraps his arms around him as he begins to rock, slowly back and forth. Keith is muttering something under his breath. Something Shiro can’t quite hear so he leans forward until his ear is by Keith’s mouth. So close he can feel his breath on his cheek. He hears him repeating, softly, like a mantra, patience yields focus. Again and again — just whispers — until his breathing evens out and he only trembles slightly. 

Something catches in Shiro’s throat and he finds he’s suddenly winded. Keith’s calm now and Shiro looks around at the carnage he’s left. The summer house looks like a tornado has blown through it. 

“I’m taking him to his room,” he tells the nurse as she bravely steps forward. She nods in agreement and Shiro lifts Keith into his arms and carries him like a child back to his room. The nurse leaves them to go find Coran. 

***

Hunk comes to visit when he can. He brings food because he knows it’s the only way to guarantee Keith will eat a full meal and he tries to bring something different every time. Today is lasagne. But Keith has to wait to get his hands on it because Doctor Coran has scheduled extra sessions recently. 

Keith sits in his office picking at the seam in his leather chair. 

“Why are there bars on the windows?” He finally asks after an insufferable amount of time spent in silence. Everything about the institute is bizarre to Keith, he can’t tell if this place is more so compared to the rest of the world but he’d been told many times now that he was free. That he’d been freed. And the bars on these beautiful stained glass windows felt the same as the ones on his room back at Mr Cassant’s, for all their beauty.

“Some of our patients here are depressed. Suicidal. It’s for everyone’s safety.” The doctor explains and although the concept is a foreign one to Keith he suddenly understands. 

“Has anyone ever hurt themselves here?”

“A few.” Coran nods. “It’s not a common occurrence but we take it very seriously. Have you ever thought about hurting yourself? About dying?” Coran fixes him with a level gaze and waits patiently. Moustache dormant.

“No.”

“No?” Coran’s eyebrow raises in speculation. Keith shrugs and carries on pulling at the loose thread in the couch. 

“For something to die it has to be living first, right?” He says, avoiding the doctors stare. 

“Right,” Coran says nodding carefully. “Is that something you’d like to do? Start living?” 

Keith doesn’t respond for a moment, like he hasn’t heard the question but Doctor Coran knows well enough he has. Eventually he shrugs. 

“I guess,” he frowns, like he’s contemplating further before he continues. “I think… I’d like to have a home.” 

Doctor Coran seems to beam and his moustache bristles as his eyes light up. He smiles kindly and quickly scribbles on his pad. 

“Do you know, that’s the first time you’ve ever expressed a wish for yourself?” 

Keith is confused but Coran seems pleased so he kind of half smiles back. 

“Have you thought about what that home might look like?” Coran asks him and that has him stumped. He shakes his head without having to think too hard. 

“It might be a good exercise for you to try and imagine that then. That can be your homework until our next session. Come Tuesday, I want to hear all about this future home of yours. Alright, my boy?” 

Keith just nods and knows it’s time to go. Doctor Coran shows him out and he’s free to find Hunk and his homemade dinner. 

Both are waiting for him in the dining hall. His meal is hot and covered under a heat protector. He sits and gives Hunk a rare half smile. It’s as warm and inviting as Keith gets. He waits for permission to start and when Hunk inclines his head and eagerly awaits his critique, Keith lifts the cover and dives in. He chews for a few seconds as he weighs his decision, and then, like always, he nods his head and mumbles around a mouthful of food. “‘t’s good.” 

High praise indeed. Hunk beams and settles down a bit. More comfortable now that Keith is happy and occupied. And eating. 

“How’re your extra sessions going?” He asks casually, watching fondly as Keith steamrollers his way through his meal. 

“They’re alright,” Keith shrugs. “What’s this?” He asks picking up the last half of a crust.

“Garlic bread.”

Keith nods and demolishes it, licking his fingertips afterwards. “It’s really good.” 

“Yeah it is.” Hunk agrees emphatically. 

“He wants me to picture a home.” Keith suddenly says after a few long moments of silence and appreciative eating. The question puzzles Hunk for a moment.

“Who?”

“Dr Coran. He asked me what I wanted and I said a home. Except I don’t really know what one looks like. I don’t know how to picture it. I can’t do what he’s asking me to do.” Keith bites his lip and puts his fork down. Appetite apparently lost. 

“A home?” Hunk doesn’t know why he’s really surprised. Why would something as normal and as natural as wanting somewhere safe be so unusual? Of course it should be a priority for Keith. It makes him realise how much he takes his own for granted. “A home is somewhere you should feel safe and loved,” Hunk begins. He tries to keep it non specific. He knows Keith has a limited range of experience. He doesn’t want this to go over his head. “It’s somewhere you should feel you belong and it’s the place you can just be yourself in. You don’t have to pretend. It’s just… home.” 

Keith is looking at him with wide dark blue eyes so clear they’re almost amethyst and despite Hunks simplification it still seems to land wide of the mark. His gaze is lost and helpless. Hunk feels his throat close slightly and he swallows to clear it; looks away while he tries to fight his way back through the uncomfortable silence and wrestle the awkwardness away. 

“Shiro said you’ve had a bit of trouble with one of the other patients? They still giving you a hard time?”

Keith finally looks away and Hunk breathes a mental sigh of relief. Sometimes the weight of Keith’s eyes can be heavy. Not a burden, but tough to endure. 

“He was right.” Keith says, frowning at the cold leftovers of his meal. “The patient I hit — Griffin. I was angry that he was right so I punched him. I wanted to hurt him.”

Hunk’s fingers twitch where they rest on the table and he realises how still he is trying to hold himself. He relaxes and reminds himself to breathe.

“He was right about what, bud?” Hunk asks softly. His determination to stay strong and supportive wavering dangerously close to breaking when he witnesses the tremble in Keith’s bottom lip. The way he bites it to keep it still. Until he’s ready to open his mouth and he takes a shaky breath and says “I’m stupid.” 

“What? You’re not stupid what makes you think that?” Hunk is genuinely offended and it takes Keith by surprise for a moment. 

“I can’t even read my own name,” he replies angrily, remembering the embarrassing incident that had led to Keith’s unseemly outburst. He’d been in the lounge watching the other residents enjoy the casual activities when he’d been called to the drugs dispensary counter to collect his meds. When he’d arrived the nurse had left them in a named pot, along with two others, and Keith had stared and stared at the strange symbols printed on the cups but the longer he’d stared the less sense they made. James Griffin had been stood behind him waiting his own turn. 

“Will you hurry up, what, can’t you read your own name? Fucking retard!”

The name strikes such a strident chord in Keith he acts before he even realises it. He flashes back to himself and he can feel that residual anger and shame swirling the drain of his limited understanding. All he really knows for certain is that he must be retarded. Must be a fucking idiot becuase what does he know? He can’t even recognise his own name. Barely knew how old he was until a month ago and his entire life is a hazy confusing blank. 

“It’s going to take time,” Hunk begins, a little shaken and his watery smile strengthens as it widens. “But you’re going to learn all these things that most of us get to take for granted and you’re going to learn so fast becuase you’re not stupid, Keith.” Hunk is emphatic by the time he gets going. “You’re strong and smart and resilient. Christ! I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through and you’re still here fighting. That’s ballsy, man. That takes guts. And it takes guts to face the things that scare us and make us feel weak, but we have to. Or else we don’t grow. That’s true for all of us, not just for you.” Hunk says not sure if any of this is sinking in. Keith still looks troubled but he deflates a little and becomes small. He nods his head and mutters a soft “yeah” in agreement. “I guess.” 

“It’s okay to be angry, too.” Hunk adds. He wants to make that point also. It’s important. “What you’ve been through… well… you deserve to be angry. You have every right to feel that.”

“Bad things happen when I get angry.” Keith says miserably, his gaze goes blank and anxious. He is seeing red and feeling searing heat. He begins to sweat and with a soft touch of fingers on his arm he is back in the cafeteria panting harshly with a fine bead of sweat glistening on his top lip. “I shouldn’t let myself get like that.” He manages to stammer. 

“Everyone has to let themselves get angry once in a while. We just have to do it in healthy ways. Maybe talk to the doc about it? Perhaps he could recommend something?” 

Keith doesn’t look like he’s holding out much hope but he nods dutifully. Hunk thinks it’s time he breaks out the cookies and he rummages in his bag until he finds the tub. It puts that half smile back on Keith’s face. It’s weaker than usual but it’s enough. 

***

Dr Coran shifts in his plastic seat and wipes at his mustache; his top lip is prickly with a cold sweat and it itches. He fights down the queasy unease in his belly and forces himself to watch. 

“Goodness,” he hears himself say. Can’t help the shaky breath it rushes out on. “That poor boy.” He forces himself through another fifteen minutes before he covers his eyes behind his hand and says “that’s enough.” 

Shiro turns it off and leans back against his desk. He closes the laptop with a soft click. 

“We found these videos in another sweep of Cassant’s house. They were stashed in the drywall. Boxes and boxes of videos just— stacked up. There must be thousands of hours on those tapes.” That last part comes out wounded and gravelly. “Dozens of boys. Not just Keith.”

“How often does he appear on these tapes?” Coran asks, dabbing at his brow with his handkerchief. He has turned a concerning shade of grey. 

Shiro’s brow creases and he appears to have trouble speaking for a moment. “This video comes from a box containing around thirty five tapes. All of them have footage of Keith spanning several years. Some are more recent. Some, like this one, are from when he was first placed in Cassant’s care.”

Coran nods. “I can see why you’d think they’d be relevant to Keith’s therapy. This is what he’s keeping from himself. What he can’t remember. And now I can see why.” 

Shiro’s long, drawn out silence is affirmation enough. “What will you do with this now?” He asks after a time.

“Well, practically speaking, not an awful lot.” Coran sighs. “It must be Keith who retrieves this from his subconscious - and I’m no longer certain that is such a sensible thing to do the longer it goes on - but I would never attempt to force this back into his head. It would be completely unethical. Contextually however it helps a great deal. Now we know what we’re up against.”

Shiro bites his lip and steels himself for the real question. 

“How’s he really doing, doc?” 

Coran’s thinly veiled optimism fails and his face becomes drawn and serious. 

“Not well.” He finally admits. “He’s struggling to adjust and lacks many social queues. It causes friction with other residents and creates distance between him and his peers. He lacks self awareness when it comes to his emotional needs and compensates by lashing out. It’s quite possibly the only form of expression he has any experience with. He’s defensive and terrified that all of this will disappear in a moment.” 

Every word is a blow to Shiro and he has to take a minute before he can reply. Before he can ask what he needs to though he doesn’t know if he will like the answer. 

“Can you help him?”

The silence that drags on is far from reassuring but Dr Coran takes his time in answering. 

“Yes. But it will take longer than I’d initially hoped.” It’s a mixed answer but Shiro takes what he can from it. “It’s his birthday next week. I was hoping we might make something of it. Give him an experience he’s never had before?” Coran’s bushy eyebrows raise expectantly and Shiro nods emphatically. 

“Count me in.” He says firmly. 

***

The morning of Keith’s birthday rises like autumn incarnate. Fresh and crisp and frosted with ice, a piercing blue sky domes the institute and everything sparkles like frosted glass. Keith sits on the benches in the summer house shivering subtly and thinks of his room back at Mr Cassant’s. He watches his breath fog and condense on the window and wonders absently what happened to all the other boys. Where are they now? Are they like him? Lost and alone and just… waiting? He likes to think they had some sort of bond, despite never having actually spoken with any of them. That wherever they are, they are bound by the emptiness of their shared memories and the absences between long hours spent alone. They all have that in common, at least. 

Keith shudders and forces himself to endure the uncomfortable temperature. It’s grounding and familiar, but all the same, a punishment for himself. A simple trick to push away unwelcome thoughts and disquieted feelings. An idiot didn’t deserve to feel comfortable. An idiot who barely even remembered who he was.

He sighs and the glass mists up and he picks up the book in his lap. One of the nurses here gave it to him: Romelle. A stern, earnest young woman who’d seen through Keith in a day or two. She’d been persistent. Handing over the book she’d promised him it would help him read. Poetry, she said, had a way of capturing the imagination. Keith begins to read, his temples burning with concentration as he forces the letters he knows into words he barely recognises. He makes it to the end of a sentence and then struggles through the next, only to stumble upon a pleasant sensation. The words change shape in his head and feel nice. They rhyme, he realises. It’s an odd reward for ten minutes of mental struggle but he keeps reading. Sounding out the words piece by piece and delights himself with a tale slowly unfolded. He thinks he’s beginning to understand the point of this when Romelle herself shows up. She’s wearing a small knowing smile and she waits for Keith to finish before he notices her. 

“Hey,” he smiles, lips turning blue. 

“Thought I’d find you here. I see I caught you reading.” 

“You were right. The poems help.” Keith is generous with his praise and affection when the mood takes him. It makes him endearing and precious to those he shows it to. Romelle is one of the few. And she is more than aware of how honoured she is. 

“Good, because guess what I got you for your birthday?” She delights in presenting a flat, oblong parcel. It is wrapped simply but neatly and it’s already beautiful in Keith’s hands. He doesn’t want to open it and spoil it. He runs his fingers down the smooth planes of the paper and string and is frozen by the moment. 

“Open it,” Romelle prods gently, releasing Keith from his indecision with an order of sorts. He complies and carefully removes the string. Searches out the corner of the parcel and eeks open the cello-tape. He gradually uncovers a book. A little thicker than the one he’s currently reading and the title reveals it’s definitely more advanced. He can’t even read two of the words. 

“It’s The Count of Monte Cristo,” Romelle decodes for him. “It’s something to aim for, when you’re practicing. Just remember you've got this to look forward to. It’s a story about a man who’s wrongly imprisoned. After many years he escapes and embarks upon a journey of revenge.” Her eyes shine as she speaks and Keith sits and listens with a slightly gaping jaw. He can’t quite verbalise what he is feeling. The scale of it is too large and the gift sits heavy in his hands though he feels light all over. 

“Don’t you like it?” Romelle asks not so sure of herself now that Keith has been silent for far too long. 

“No. I mean—yes. I like it. Thank you. I just…” he shakes his head and can’t complete the thought. Romelle’s smile is back and it’s soft and kind. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and lowers her voice. 

“Happy Birthday, Keith.”

Something hard develops quickly in the back of Keith’s throat and he has trouble swallowing. It’s painful but he manages it. Follows it up with a weak smile and then Romelle is speaking again. 

“Come on, it’s freezing in here. Besides, I have a little surprise to show you.” She stands aside and holds out a hand and waits for Keith to move. He follows her, quickly slipping his hand out of hers once he’s got his balance and he clutches his books to his chest. Walking from the summer house into the main house is like stepping through a portal. The heat hits him immediately. They walk in companionable silence, passing other patients wandering the corridors until Romelle shows him into the small cafeteria where residents take their meals and he’s surprised nearly out of his skin when a small chorus of “Happy Birthday” makes him jump. 

Doctor Coran greets him first, arms open wide and smile beaming under his moustache. 

“There you are my boy, we’ve been waiting for you.” He’s not alone. Waiting with him are Shiro and Allura, and a young woman Keith recalls is called Pidge. He vaguely remembers her as part of Shiro’s team. Hunk is there of course and next to him is a young man Keith has never seen before. On the table between them is a cake with candles, and a small pile of neatly wrapped presents. For a long while Keith is immobile, frozen solid as he tries to take everything in and work out what’s happening. His eyes are large and round and his face is stony, but he catches Shiro’s eye and he smiles, easing some of the tension in Keith’s chest. He doesn’t quite smile in return but Shiro doesn’t seem to notice. 

“We wanted to mark the occasion.” He says by way of an explanation for the ambush and Keith still isn’t sure if this is a good surprise or a bad one. 

“Why?” He asks before he’s even engaged his brain. It’s lagging several seconds behind. He’s only just computing that the cake and gifts are for him. 

“Because it’s your birthday.” Shiro says, walking up next to him so he can lay a hand on his shoulder. “Seems like a good enough reason as any to celebrate.” He smiles softly and somewhere in the back of Keith’s mind he registers that his face feels warm. Shiro’s grip on his shoulder tightens for a moment and then it’s gone and Shiro is holding out his prosthetic in a sweeping gesture at the man Keith doesn’t recognise. 

“And I thought it would be a good time to introduce Lance.” the man takes his queue and steps forward, raising his hand in anticipation of a handshake. He’s left hanging as Keith just stares at his offered hand in puzzlement. 

“Lance here is the assistant DA that’s helping try the case, and he’s brought some good news.” 

Lance lowers his hand and wipes his palm against his pant leg, and his eyes dart to Shiro every few seconds. Keith can tell he's nervous, and that Keith is the source, but he still fails to see why. Maybe it’s something he’ll never understand.

“The DA offered a plea bargain. Cassant accepted life without parole and has given us valuable information about the ring he was a part of. This intel will keep us busy for years and the best news of all? It means you don’t have to go to trial.”

Keith blinks in Lance’s direction a few times before he looks at Shiro and asks, “Why would I have to go to trial? Did I do something bad?” 

He registers the surprise on Shiro’s face, that emotion is clear to see, but there is also a hint of that strange expression Keith still can’t place and it distracts him. Lance splutters and tries to backtrack, as Shiro’s heart twists painfully at the misunderstanding. 

“No! No, of course you haven’t. It’s not a trial for you, you would just be giving evidence. Against Cassant. You wouldn’t have to sit through the whole thing but even so, it would be a tough experience giving that kind of evidence. It’s better this way. Now you can just focus on yourself.” 

Keith takes on his words and swills then around in his brain before he looks back up at Shiro. Tenuous trust dances in his gaze and Shiro can’t help but understand the weight of that. Keith is working out something integral to his whole world view right before his eyes. 

“So if I didn’t do anything bad then —does that mean— has— has Mr Cassant done something bad?” 

The penny drops. Both for Keith and for Shiro as he nods slowly and the realisation dawns in Keith’s eyes. Shiro finally understands how deep this thing goes, and just how innocent Keith still is. Or was. The fragile moment is shattered and nothing in front of Keith will ever be easy again.

“All those times—“ Keith starts and then something catches in his throat, “all those times I don’t remember, was he— he was doing something bad?”

Shiro holds up a hand, perhaps it’s meant to calm or to restrain but Keith pulls back, not entirely sure he wants to be touched right now. 

Allura and Coran are talking and Romelle and Pidge are huddled together taking pictures, and no one has quite noticed the impending meltdown about to happen. Shiro opens his mouth, about to say something grounding and reassuring in his calmest, most soothing voice but before he can utter a syllable the flash on Pidge’s camera goes off, catching the corner of Keith’s eye and he blinks, his inner eye slamming him back into a memory so tangible and real he can feel the heat of the man’s stomach against his face. Can feel the stretch of his lips around something shoved into his mouth and he remembers the smell of sweat and damp brickwork. He can feel the busted springs under his bony knees and he is shivering not from the cold but from a freezing heat, burning him up from the inside. He blinks. Rapidly. Trying to dislodge the image from the back of his eyes like sticky tape off the end of his fingers. He feels weightless, and then his world is tilting and there are hands around his arms. They hurt but they guide him to the floor and Keith can’t understand why the ground moves so much until he realises that his body is shaking. He’s cold and damp with sweat and he feels sick to his stomach. Like he’s going to pass out; his heart is threatening to explode out of his chest and all he can do to articulate his fear is let out a treacherous sob as he scrabbles to find something immutable to hang on to. 

“Keith, it’s alright I've got you. You’re alright, you’re safe.” He can hear that voice through the ringing in his ears and the faint sound of a camera clicking as it echoes in his memory. He tries to hang on to it, a hunk of wood in a howling storm at sea. 

Shiro kneels behind Keith, keeping him up against his chest and off the cold floor, but his hands on his shoulders end up around Keith’s chest and arms as he holds him firmly. Keith latches on and makes a concerted effort to control his breathing. Grits his teeth and forces himself to stop shaking. At least pull it back to an acceptable tremble. Keith forces the sob in his throat back down and furiously rubs at his eyes with his knuckles, letting out a sigh of frustration as he collapses back against Shiro’s chest in exhaustion.

Coran hovers nearby, tentatively he reaches out and urges Keith to open his eyes. “Keith, are you alright, my boy?” 

Keith doesn’t open his eyes but he shakes his head. “I don’t—know, no, I don’t—“ he can’t stop seeing the images behind his eyes. Flashing like lewd, disgusting pop ups. “No, I’m not.” He finally says. Admitting it is like letting the doors open and that gut feeling that has been sitting like a dark shadow in the back of his mind is suddenly closer and more present than it’s ever been. Keith is terrified. He knows his whole life is about to change again and he doesn’t want it. 

“What just happened?” Doctor Coran is asking him but he doesn’t know. Can’t possibly answer that. Those images still flashing intermittently. He can’t focus. 

“I don’t—“

He can’t get any more words out. He’ll choke. 

“It’s alright, you’re okay.” He hears this repeat a lot in and out of the haze that follows, until he closes his eyes and when he opens them he’s lying down on the Doctor’s couch. Coran is nowhere to be seen so he closes his eyes and drifts off once again. 

***

It’s way past visiting hours before Coran appears again, stiff necked and grim faced. Shiro has been waiting in the visitors lounge. Everyone else gone home some time ago. Nightfall outside and brittle leaves blow in the gusty storm building outside. 

Shiro rises from his chair as Coran enters.  
“How is he?” 

“Better. I gave him a mild sedative but I doubt he’ll need it. The poor boy is shattered.” 

“What set him off?” Shiro asks, doesn’t have to wait around for the obvious explanation. He knows a panic attack when he sees one and he’s had more than his fair share of flashbacks. 

“Ah that’s anyone’s guess,” Coran shrugs, “but whatever triggered him has broken through whatever was protecting Keith. He recalled an encounter with Cassant. In detail.”

“How much does he remember?” Shiro’s voice is thin and tenuous. It’s the question he’s both terrified of and desperate for the answer to. 

“Only this isolated incident so far. But a resurgence of one memory could lead to more. It’s unclear at this point how much more he’ll recall. But we best prepare for it all.” 

Shiro feels the weight in his chest cinch tighter, cutting off his air for a moment. He coughs to clear it. 

“Can I see him?” He asks softly. 

“I think that would be a good idea actually. He should be just getting ready for bed. I’ll show you through.” 

***

Keith’s room is modest in size but bare of possessions. Just the regulation bed, closet and desk. There is a lamp on the nightstand and it bathes the back wall in a soft glow. Shiro can see Keith’s hair poking out from under the blankets. He raps his knuckles on the door frame but Keith doesn’t stir. Not until Shiro softly calls his name. He sits himself up and leans against the wall, his tired face waxy and drawn in the moonlight coming in through the barred window. His bruises have long since disappeared but he still looks so damaged the air around him turns fragile. Shiro isn’t sure he wants to intrude on it. He sits in the chair in front of the desk and folds his hands in his lap. 

“How’re you feeling?” It’s a dumb question and they both know it, but this conversation needs a jump off point. Keith shrugs his shoulders and remains quiet.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro grinds out before he loses his nerve.

“Why are you sorry?” Keith asks quietly his eyes dark and stormy under his bangs. 

“The party, the cake. It was my idea. I think it might have overwhelmed you. I’m sorry.” 

“It wasn’t that.” Keith shakes his head, the slight curl in his hair dancing around his puffy eyes and he sniffs. “I remembered.” He admits quietly. 

“I know,” Shiro says quickly so Keith knows he doesn’t have to explain himself. Not again. “Coran told me. No details, just the general jist.” He adds at the sight of panic in Keith’s gaze. 

“I wanted to hang around and make sure you’re okay. Let you know I know what you’re going through.” 

Keith scoffs and it surprises Shiro. He’s a little offended. His brow knits together in concern and he’s momentarily thrown off his game. 

“How could you possibly know what I’m going through?” Keith spits churlishly, curling up tight on himself. It’s textbook and cliché and Shiro should have expected it. Keith is still like a child in many ways. He remembers himself and regroups. 

“Because I know what it’s like to have to build a life from scratch. After everything’s been ruined.” Shiro holds out his prosthetic and turns the gleaming quicksilver palm upwards. He curls his fingers. “You’ve lost such a big part of your life, and I know what that feels like. But you have to believe me when I say it won’t always be like this. Things will get better.” 

Despite the steel in his eyes Keith’s bottom lip still trembles when he opens his mouth to speak.

“What happened to your arm?” He looks at it like it’s a poisonous animal. 

“I wasn’t always a cop, you know.” Shiro begins gently. “When I was a kid I wanted to be a pilot, maybe even fly in outer space. And I was really good at it, too. One of the best in a generation. Or so one of my mentors said.” Shiro laughs but it’s humourless. “I broke record after record and there didn’t seem to be anything that could stop me from reaching my dream of being chosen for the Garrison. I got in, and it felt like I’d finally arrived at my destiny. The whole purpose of my life was about to be realised and then out of nowhere— what should have been a routine fly through —something went wrong.” Shiro stops and looks down at his missing hand, clutched tightly around the wrist by his flesh and blood one. “I don’t remember how, but I crashed. They said it was pilot error but I couldn’t accept that. I wanted it to be technical. I wanted it to be a fault of the plane but there was no other excuse for why my arm was missing. I was devastated. My whole future had gone up in flames. And now I was disabled. A part of myself had literally been torn away from me and I couldn’t go back and undo it.” 

Keith’s large grey eyes are round and glassy and he listens to Shiro with rapt attention. He swallows visibly and licks his lips before he ventures a soft reply. 

“I just want it to go away.” He all but whispers. “I wanna go back to not knowing.” 

“Sure, I get that,” Shiro smiles kindly even though his heart is breaking. He’s struggling to keep his professional composure. His smile slips and he can’t hold it any longer. What he’s about to say would sound ridiculous delivered with a forced smile so he takes a breath and keeps his gaze level and neutral. “But people don’t go backwards. That’s not how we work. We can only move forwards. Even if it’s painful. Because what’s on the other side is worth it.” 

“What’s on the other side for me?” Keith asks, ready to believe every word if Shiro can answer his riddle. He’s so confident there is no answer or that Shiro simply hasn’t thought so far ahead. 

“I don’t know,” Shiro’s answer is honest but devastating and it’s not what Keith wants to hear. “But whatever it is it’s going to be incredible and you won’t be on your own. I promise.” 

Keith looks as far from convinced as it’s possible to be, and Shiro remembers he still has something in his pocket to give him. He takes it out, smoothing the wrapping paper and holds it reverently in his hands. He passes it over, waiting patiently while Keith decides to reach out and take it, before he sits back and watches Keith unwrap his gift. He’s clearly confused by it, and Shiro smiles as he explains. 

“They’re my dog tags.” 

“You have a dog?” 

Shiro laughs. The sound is short and sharp in the silence. “They’re my military ID tags.” 

Keith turns the metal over in his fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb over the raised lettering.

“Why are you giving them to me?” Keith raises a suspicious brow and Shiro shrugs.

“A reminder,” he says, fixing his eyes on the tags coiled up in Keith’s palm. “To never stop adapting. To never give up. That it’s always possible to start again.” 

Shiro and Keith make eye contact and they share a small moment of silence and understanding. Though Keith remains somber under the weight of his impending battles. Shiro fears he doesn’t know the half of it. How bad it’s going to be before it gets better. He’s afraid for Keith. But he believes in him. 

“Get some sleep.” He says softly. He stands up and lets the creak of the chair announce his departure.


End file.
